Chronicles of The Flock: Extreme Survivors
by Valkyrie Missile
Summary: What happens when Maximum Ride and the flock clash with the Hunger Games tributes? Does this mean war, or newfound friendship? And just how exactly can Max and the flock save the meek tributes of District 12 from the harsh Games and the Capitol's wrath?
1. Another Part of The Big Picture

**Authoress is dying to write this. So forgive her. It just so happened to be an epic idea. She couldn't wait.**

**Maximum Ride & Hunger Games crossover; After Maximum Ride: MAX & the Hunger Games.**

**Characters belong to their respective owners. (Fine: James Patterson & Suzanne Collins.)**

**Wee bit changes here: Panem is a large (take note of **_**large**_**) island smack in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean. Pretend it's been there all this time.**

**Let the Games begin, and may the odds ever be in your favour!**

*******

_Max. Go to these coordinates with the flock. Jeb will meet you there._

Ugh, the Voice, _again_.

I sat up in my bed, and stretched my arms—and wings.

_Hurry, Max. You're needed._

I mentally face-palmed myself (it's this weird motion where you slap your forehead, or _face_ with your _palm_). Save the world, it's-all-part-of-the-big-picture, yada yada yada.

Then again, the Voice usually has very, _very_ bad timing with these kinds of stuff. I mean, can't it do it at a time where I actually feel like it—maybe Saturday at 3? Okay, okay, overreacting.

I walked down the halls—get this; the flock's actually staying at an old abandoned mansion, somewhere in Malibu. No, I'm joking. I'd never tell you where we are, but for now, we're safe… in an old, abandoned mansion.

I knocked the door to Nudge and Angel's room first. They decided to share a bed even if there were more than enough rooms to have their own. Frankly, I'd rather have my privacy and think of my personal thoughts in a room that _doesn't_ contain a freaking six-year-old _mind-reader. _I know I should get used to it by now, but Angel is a scary child.

"Wake up, Nudge."

"Mmm? No, no, the pink one… No, the pink one, I said…"

I sighed. Recently, Nudge started talking in her sleep again. She stopped about a year ago. So much for motormouths—they have it even when they sleep.

"Pour cold water all over her face, Max."

I smiled at Angel, who was already up. She may be a scary child, but she's still the cutest. I'll always love taking care of her.

"Well, why don't you go ahead and wake up Gazzy and Ig? I'll take care of Nudge here."

She returned my smile. "Okay," she said.

***

After getting Nudge to wake up and go downstairs to the kitchen with Gazzy, Ig and Angel, I went to check on Fang.

Who was _apparently_ not in his room.

"Fang, if you dare use your skill to scare the living crap out of me, I will kill you."

I scanned the room. His stuff was neater than Gazzy's, but never as immaculate as Iggy, who had to memorize where he placed his stuff in order not to trip over them.

But where the hell was Fang?

A set of grinning teeth appeared right in front of my face.

I jumped backward and screamed bloody murder. "Fang!"

He blinked, shook his head, and he came into view, all at once.

"Morning, Max."

"Prepare to die, you freaking _bastard!_"

***

Jeb was waiting for us at a train station.

It was weird to see him—a man whom I suppose I should call _dad._ Turned-evil-turned-good-turned-evil-turned-I-don't-want-to-know. He was confusing. Like Jackson Pollock's paintings. You never know what you find.

"Onto the train, please, Max."

I wanted to snort, or roll my eyes right then and there, but I'm pretty sure I made it clear to him that I didn't trust him by emitting a short, sarcastic laugh and telling the flock to go onboard.

I didn't need telling them—their eyes immediately scanned the room, looking for exits, entrances, etc. Hey, maybe we could find some stuff to bring after we left.

"Mr. Jeb Batchelder?"

Jeb turned at the sound of his name. "That would be me," he said.

The woman gestured behind her. "This way, please." She had brown hair that was tied up messily, and wore green glasses, a black blazer over a white blouse and a skirt that looked too tight too be worn by her. She didn't look like she could hide a knife or gun in her skirt, but she could undo the buttons on her blazer and pull out either of the two, possibly both, from a secret pocket. Call me imaginative, or tell me I've been watching too much action, but I've had too much experience with people trying to kill us 24/7.

I met Fang's eyes, almost automatically. We both knew.

Be on guard.

***

The lady led us to a compartment. It was big, containing a couch and two chairs, and beds enough for six bird kids and a whitecoat guy. It also had a dinner table, two bathrooms, a television, and three wall phones.

"We will arrive at Panem in two days," the woman said, as she left and closed the door.

"Okay, Jeb, don't beat around the bush. Why did you call us here? And where the hell is Panem?"

I eyed him cautiously as the flock settled on the couch, as he scanned the room.

He didn't answer, but locked the door and closed the windows.

"Max, please sit down."

"Tell me."

He faced the television, and held up a disk, which he inserted at the side.

The television flickered to life, and a woman with ridiculously vivid pink hair, snow-white eyelashes and semi-precious gems practically stuck to her skin started her report.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, it is almost the _**Hunger Games**_ season! Are you all excited?!"_


	2. Quarter Quell

I didn't know what to say after Jeb showed us the videos.

I mean, what _do_ you say when you see _twenty-four kids_ battle it out against each other—to the death, literally? There was a part where they even froze to death… There was a guy who was crazy enough to _eat_ his victims… There was that girl who betrayed her companions…

Okay, the flock and I have exceptional abilities and live amazingly dangerous lives, so fights to the death is kind of our everyday thing.

But seriously—_kids_!? Not to mention it's been going on for more than seventy years. Shouldn't someone have noticed it?

"Max? What do you think?"

I couldn't give a straight answer.

"It's vile," Fang said.

"No, not really… Well, kinda… No, wait-- I didn't see it," Iggy said, with a straight face.

I stomped on his foot.

"Ow! What, I'm blind…"

Silence.

Even Nudge the motormouth had nothing to say.

"Max, what do you feel like doing, after seeing this?"

I thought of the eyes of the children staring back—determined ones, scared, teary, crazed, dying, dead, etc. I thought of the blood and the twenty-three lives that were lost.

"I want to save those kids. Find a way to save a life or two," I said.

Angel nodded in unison. "It's not fair—they deserve to live a good life."

"The Hunger Games consist of twenty-four tributes from twelve different districts. We're heading to the last one, District 12, where the last two tributes are taken from."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, what do we do to save these kids?"

"Max, remember? Investigation first… I don't think we can do anything to save these kids now."

I saw red.

"Are you _crazy_?! What part of _saving_ do you not understand!?"

The flock practically held on to me; I nearly leapt at Jeb, ready to claw his eyes out. Fang held me steady around my waist, being the strongest. Aside from _moi_, of course.

"They can't take it either, Max," he whispered in my ear, sending me shivery feelings all over. Damn, I hated when he did that.

But it was true. I could see it in their eyes, the burning fire, the desire to save and the compassion in their hearts.

"Breathe," Fang whispered again. But how was I supposed to, when his breath alone paralyzes me? Oh god, I hate this. I did, however, stop trying to fight off the flock, and they released their grip on me.

"I'm only a sponsor, Max," said Jeb. "I can only place my bets. I'm asking you to help me choose."

"And what good will that do? One child will be saved by your efforts alone—the victor. It's vicious. Forget I even came here," I said, straightening up and ready to leave.

Jeb stood up. "No, Max. I've come to terms with the leader of Panem, President Snow. There is a way for you to enter the Games without having to die."

I sat down, curious. Now _that's_ what I'm talking about.

***

The train picked up on more speed, as Jeb explained.

"Let me get this straight: We choose three tributes to save, and we can be sent to the Games to help them?"

"And you cannot attack each other, only the other tributes," Jeb said.

"And how is that saving them?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

_Max,_ the Voice said,_**that**__ is only part of the plan. You still get to save the three._

_Oh yeah? How's that going to happen, Voice?_

It didn't answer, again. It never did.

_A wise man never reveals __**all**__ of his plans to everyone, Max. And if you don't have a plan, pretend you do. You know this, Max. _ It was Jeb who spoke now, in my mind. I recognized the voice.

"I don't trust you well enough, Jeb," I said, putting as much menace into my voice as I can, "but if we can save at least three, I'll do it."

He sighed. "Whatever you want, Max. Pair up the flock, and in two days, you'll get to see the tributes by video, and perhaps meet some of them."

"Wouldn't it be suspicious to them, that another set of kids are wandering around on the train?"

"I told President Snow that you could be counsellors. You know, check on the tributes' wellbeing and stuff. Or you can say that the sponsors told you to come along and check on them. Either of the two."

He leaned back in his chair, and murmured to himself. "The problem is, it's the 75th Games, and President Snow has turned the tables… I can't figure out why…"

I nodded, not really listening to what he said, but still doubtful. I mean, _why_ would I help if it were only in vain? Those kids needed to get out of the arena soon.

That afternoon, we watched the videos again, just to see if we can pick up something, anything, from it. And that's when I realized—the kids from District 1-4, perhaps even 5 and 6, had a desire to kill.

I saw it in their eyes: the bloodlust, the pride, the overconfidence, the hunger. They took pride in being a tribute, when all it showed was how much they were under the Capitol's power.

The kids from the poorer districts knew what the Hunger Games really was. Their eyes told their stories: there you could find sadness, a yearning to go home. You could find madness in their eyes, and see the light die out. You watch as they die.

But there are those who desperately cling to life. Their eyes burn with determination, willpower, courage, and strength. In them you'll see a brightly dancing fire, and the life radiating in it. These were the survivors.

These were the eyes of the flock.

***

"So, at this time, when we arrive at District 12, just how close are we to the day of the 'reaping'?"

"The reaping's done by that the time. We're only switching trains to the one being boarded by the tributes."

Fang was leaning against the wall, barely moving. "Max, you're pacing again," he said, impatiently.

I came to a halt. "Oh, sorry." I sat down on my bed.

"You're thinking too much, Max," Angel said softly. My head snapped up as I realized that the flock had been watching me the whole time I was pacing, thinking. Which was more than half a _freaking_ hour. Well, except for Iggy, he probably just listened to my footsteps.

"Sorry you guys," I said, and gave a reassuring smile. Maybe I _was _over-analyzing stuff, which is a tendency of mine. Then again, you can't call it _over-analyzing_ when you face stuff worse than saving people, like, say, saving the _**world**__._

"Does anyone want to go out and fly a bit? My wings are sore," Iggy said, stretching his arms—and wings.

Jeb looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "I don't think--"

"—Let's go," I said, abruptly. Jeb wasn't the leader of the flock anymore, I was. So he better do it my way, or nobody's way at all.

***

Up in the sky, the flock rejoiced in having this short time to fly. Really, being a mutant bird-kid wasn't fun because of the Erasers and Flyboys and Omega-sized stuff going after you. But it was so damn_ awesome_ because flying is just really, really cool. And handy.

Fang flew next to me. "Hey, Max."

"Yeah?"

"I found a video on last year's Hunger Games. Apparently, two tributes won, for the first time ever in the Games."

I frowned. "Why? Did the rules change?"

"Nah, apparently the two were lovers. Somewhere in the middle of the Games, it was announced that the tributes from the same District could win and come out alive."

I raised an eyebrow. "So they won? Wow."

"Not really," he said darkly. "The two lovers were the last remaining when it was announced that there could only really be one winner."

I winced at that. Imagine having to choose between yourself and your lover. Or choosing your lover when your lover chooses you to live on. Man, the Games were _crazy_. "What happened? I thought you said there were two winners?"

He grinned. "It was genius, actually. Or just an act of love. The two decided to kill each other at the same time by eating poisonous berries. Of course, the Games had to have a winner, and since it presented no other option, the two were hailed victors."

"That's interesting."

His face turned serious. "I watched a condensed version of last year's Games. That girl's a fighter. And that boy just couldn't live without her."

***

When we got back in the train, Jeb was watching the news. "Come take a look at this, Max. It's a video on the Games this year, taken maybe several weeks ago. I didn't take notice of it until now."

The flock crowded in front of the television.

"_That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!_"

Seventy-fifth. See what I mean? I wonder how they never let any of the news get out of the country.

The video fast forwarded to the president talking.

"… _On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors._"

I frowned. "What does that mean, Jeb?"

"It means that the reapings will occur—except that the only names that will be and can be drawn are those of the past victors," he said.

"That means…"

"That means that victors who may have lived long enough expecting only to witness this year's Games might actually participate instead."

I remembered the past Games. If they had survived until this year… They would have aged and become weaker by now, rendering them defenseless against the younger victors.

How cruel the Capitol is, and President Snow. Now, not only are children at their mercy, but adults and elderly?

I looked at the television screen, and saw the evil glint in President Snow's eyes.

It was then that I realized how much I wanted to _freaking_ punch his face.

**A/N: That part where the president talks… I got it from Catching Fire. Yep, disclaimer. 8D So how was it? The flock doesn't get to meet anyone yet. ): But they will soon! Promise! R&R pliz. (:**


	3. The Mockingjay Or Something Like That

**A/N: Do me a favor. Click my name and read my other fanfics. R&R, Because they motivate me. c:**

**I'M SERIOUS, I WON'T UPDATE UNLESS YOU DO. D8 -threatening glare-**

**Just joking. Your choice. (:**

**Visit my profile too, and PM me. ): I feel like a failure here, except your reviews make it not so bad. Really, people. I love it when you do. :**

"Ow! OKAY, THAT'S IT! WHO MOVED THE FREAKING TABLE, AND THE DAMN CHAIRS?!"

"Oh God, Iggy, not now," I said, moaning as I got out of bed. Geez, that blind sexist pig can really be a pain when he's pissed. Especially in the mornings.

Everyone else woke up because of the noise that was Iggy, the dinner table and the chairs on the floor. Fang walked silently over to Iggy, pulled him up (take note of _silently_, because Fang barely makes _any freaking noise at all_ when he moves), and guided him to the couch while Nudge, Gazzy and Angel put the table and chairs back in order.

I looked around. Jeb wasn't here, I mused. I sighed.

"I'll go whip up something," I muttered to myself.

I had barely taken a step when I realized that the flock seemed to freeze. I turned around.

"What?!" I half-yelled, half-said indignantly.

The flock was eyeing me. Like I did or said something that signalled the apocalypse.

"Max, Iggy can cook--"

"—Max, you go sit down--"

"—Max, help me brush my hair instead--"

"—Are you all trying to tell me that my ability to cook a decent breakfast is actually non-existent?" I glared at all of them.

"Yes," Iggy said, almost immediately.

"WHY YOU--"

"—Morning," Jeb said, entering the room.

Upon seeing me suddenly holding up a fork and ready to attack Iggy, he said, "Oh… Max was going to cook something, wasn't she?"

I lowered the fork. "Tch. Yeah, I _was_. Until this pig came along and said—"

"—Max, abilities that concern cooking is non-existent in your case—EYAHH!"

A fork found its way to the wall beside him, missing its target by a few centimetres.

Jeb cleared his throat. "Clearly, however, you **are **quite capable of such _accuracy_," he said.

Three knives followed suit.

***

After calming down a little and letting the flock have their way with Iggy's hearty breakfast, someone knocked on the door halfway through everyone eating their fill.

"I'll get it," I said. I swung the door open to reveal our visitor—the lady from yesterday.

"Good morning," she said. "May I talk to Jeb Batchelder?"

I looked over my shoulder. "Oi, old man," I said, and jerked my head to the door.

Jeb looked up from the newspaper. He nodded, and went to the door. "Yes?"

"We'd like to inform you that we have changed our course, and we will be arriving at Panem, District Twelve, in two hours," she said. "And you have a letter." She handed him a white envelope with his name on it.

He nodded thanks. "Oh, miss? When we arrive at Panem, will the reapings be done by then?"

She frowned. "Mr. Batchelder, I believe you have been misinformed. The reapings are tomorrow. You will be able to enjoy a day in District Twelve."

"A-oh. I see. Thank you," Jeb said. He closed the door as the lady left.

"Who's the letter from?"

"I don't know," Jeb said.

He opened the letter.

"What the heck is this?!" He frowned. "It doesn't make any sense."

I took it from him, and this is what it said,

_Dear Mr. Jeb Batchelder._

_Greetings, old friend! I hear that you are going to sponsor in this year's Games. I wanted to ask—are you going to do your research on mockingjays while you're here? If so, I have one in custody, although I would have to ask you to take it under your wing and keep it safe. It is the only one that has allowed itself in a cage, for the time being. Once the time is right, I will set it free, or ask you to do so. So how about it?_

_Your Friend,_

_Haymitch_

"Hey, there's a name," I said. I looked up from the letter and looked at Jeb. "Do you know anyone who goes by the name 'Haymitch'?"

"Wait, I'm thinking…"

'_Angel,'_ I thought. _'Angel, can you hear me?'_

'_Hey Max,'_ she said in reply. _'What's up?'_

'_Sweetie, can you tell everyone to search the room for cameras and microphones?'_

'_Sure,'_ she said.

"Oh man, Iggy," I said, "where'd you put the darn remote?"

"I'll look," said Fang, Gazzy, Angel and Nudge at the same time, while putting away the dishes in the sink.

Iggy said, as sarcastically as he could, "I'll _feel_ for it."

I rolled my eyes. Then I remembered he was blind. "I'm rolling my eyes, Iggy."

***

After an hour and half of searching, we found three cameras and three busted microphones. Why busted? It appears that Iggy found them yesterday and 'accidentally' broke each one. It didn't seem like President Snow actually trusted his sponsors. Amazingly enough, no one came, like, in the middle of the night to put in replacements. So maybe they _were_ a bunch of idiots after all, and that makes us lucky.

'_Angel.'_

'_Yes Max?'_

'_Tell Jeb and the flock that the letter is a code,'_ I said, thinking fast, _'And that we have a whole day at District Twelve to figure it out.'_

'_Jeb says Haymitch is from District Twelve. Jeb says they were good friends when Haymitch went to his hometown as an exchange student for a year.'_

I nearly shouted out, "Hallelujah!" But you know, I didn't, just in case the busted microphones weren't the only ones there.

'_Tell Jeb we'll go look for him once we get out of here.'_

***

So, half an hour later, we arrive at District 12, Panem.

Quite frankly, there isn't much to describe the city. It certainly contained a gloomy, defeated aura. It could very well be like the slums, or perhaps the sewers. It obviously wasn't that optimistic about the Games. But then again, who in their right mind would be?

We were walking around, but not too far from the train's platform. People dared not meet our gaze, and cleared the way. Freaky, I know. Usually when someone sees the flock, they stare, they gawk, or they attack viciously with no intent of leaving a single bird-kid alive. But not here.

But hey, less people trying to kill us 24/7, more fun, right? Yeah, _right._ That'll be the day when Hell freezes over.

The platform sure was nice, with benches and chairs and tables. It was presentable, and looked pleasant—maybe that was to mask the strange, dark mystery of District Twelve.

'_Okay, Angel, is anyone watching or listening to us?'_

'_Nope,'_ she answered back.

"Okay, any clues as to where we'll find Haymitch?"

And it was at that exact moment that God, or whatever divine being that had a _serious_ grudge against me, set off a huge explosion.

***

Great. Just great.

It's my first day in _freaking_ Panem, let alone District Twelve, and someone tries to kill us.

I was under a bench that I hurled myself into, seconds after the explosion. I came through unscathed—unlike the bench. Well, not really, I got a few cuts and bruises, but none too serious. Bits of concrete fell on the bench and decided to break into millions of tiny grains of dust. I stood up, brushing _and_ coughing all of it.

"Report!" I yelled.

Forget about me saying that no one was going to try and kill us here.

"Report!" I yelled again, louder this time. The flock was going to be okay. I'm sure of it.

"Fang, reporting in," a strong voice said, from the bench right in front of me, "I'm okay."

"Gazzy, reporting in. I'm with Nudge," he said, from under a table.

"Nudge? You there?" I called, hoping that it _was_ Gazzy speaking and not some Gaz II, because that would bring about total chaos, not to mention accelerated _global warming._ You never know when those poisonous gases leave the Gasman, let alone two of them.

"Nudge, reporting. I'm okay," she said, coughing a little.

"Angel, reporting," said a child's voice, from under some rubble beside Fang. "I'm stuck," she said.

I looked closer and realized that her legs were bleeding and trapped under a piece of concrete – and she was trying not to cry from the pain. Despite myself, I can't help but smile. That's my girl.

Fang walked over to her, limping a bit, but Nudge and I helped him, and we got her out.

"Where's Iggy?" I said, while carrying Angel, who held tightly onto my neck.

"Iggy, reporting," said a voice out of nowhere, as if on cue. "I'm here," he said, emerging from under a table that was almost crushed by a huge chunk of concrete, had it not been for the chair that supported the side that the concrete had fallen upon.

"Thank God," I say, as Angel asks, "Where's Jeb?"

I looked around. People were shocked due to the explosion, but luckily no one got hurt. "Jeb! Oi! Where are you?!" I yelled. Geez, that old man…

"Here," said a timid voice. Jeb emerged from under a table that was quite far from where we were standing. "Look who I found," he said, grinning.

"I think I speak for the flock when I say, 'Huh'!? Who's that?"

There was a man beside him, coughing violently. Jeb patted his back, and brought him over to us. "This is Haymitch."

And my first day in Panem isn't so bad afterall—it didn't take us more than fifteen minutes to find Haymitch, did it?

***

Haymitch was unlocking the door to a be-yoo-ti-ful house. Take note of beautiful, because if there's anything in District Twelve that fits that description, it's Haymitch's house. And the two other houses beside it.

I was still carrying Angel when I whispered, "Angel, sweetie. Picking up anything from Haymitch?"

"Wait," she said, and her forehead crinkled with concentration. "He's worried about someone… It's a girl, her name's Catnip, or something like that… I also sense he's worried about a boy, too, same age as the girl… His name's Peeta. And right now, Haymitch is feeling very relieved that we're here, because he thinks we can help."

I smiled at her. "Thanks sweetie, that helps a lot."

In case you're new—wait, I guess you're not, you probably know that Angel's a mind reader. Nevermind.

The door finally opened, and Haymitch ushered us in. He looked out the door first, before locking it. He gestured us to the living room, where he closed all windows and doors.

We all looked at him in question.

"There are people who we don't want listening in," he said, double-checking. "Trust me."

"Angel, is there _anyone_ who isn't supposed to be here? You know, listening in, and all?" Everyone turned to look at her.

She paused for a moment, concentrating. "No, all clear."

"What… did you do?"

Oops, I think Jeb forgot to mention that to Haymitch...

"I can read minds," Angel said, answering his question. Haymitch looked at us, and grinned.

"You lot are an interesting bunch, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Well, Haymitch, we're here. What did you want from us, and who's this mocking jay you're talking about?"

***

It was around lunchtime that Haymitch finished telling his story.

"So, let me get this straight," I said. "This girl, Katniss, is the reason for the uprising of a rebellion?"

He nodded. Fang looked at me and smirked, sending sounds-like-something-you'd-do signals at me.

"And you want us to help her?" asked again, for about a hundredth time.

"Max," Jeb said impatiently, "_Yes._ Are you going to, or not!?"

"Is the life of one girl enough to pay for twenty-three lives that are going to be lost this year?"

"Yes," Haymitch said, trying to convince me. "If this girl's life will save all lives under the Capitol."

I still wasn't so sure about this.

"Max," he said, and I jumped, realizing that he used my name for the first time. "Think about it this way: if we can get all the districts to unite under her name, her image, then Panem can be freed of the Capitol, and President Snow. Twenty-three lives in exchange for a nation."

I looked at Fang, who gave a slight nod, and to the flock, who each nodded their approval.

I grinned. "Okay," I say.

I put a fist out, and the flock stacked theirs on top of it.

"Let's do this!"

***

"Okay, let's get this in order," I said.

The flock actually paid attention, bless their souls. They barely do that, and it's a wonderful feeling that they do now. I cracked my knuckles.

"No objections to what I tell you to do," I said, "unless you present a valid point, or a different approach. Clear?"

The flock nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeb and mostly Haymitch, talking and watching me with amusement.

"Okay. For starters, I'll pair you up… Or make you work alone, for that matter. There are only two 'assistants' allowed per tribute, so you better listen up. Haymitch told us that he'll ensure getting one or two tributes , so one or two of you won't get a definite tribute, but by the time the Gamemakers finish assessing the tributes, I'll let ya know." It was handy that Haymitch told us everything—from the rules of the Game down to the reaping.

"So, for Katniss… There's me. And only me," I said, firmly. Fang looked like he wanted to murder me. "Objections?"

"Are you sure you don't want Fang with you, Max?" Angel asked. She knew all about Fang, and his feelings, and mine, and **God—**I don't want to know what else she knows.

"Nope, sorry Fang." Besides, if he _was_ with me, I'd be bothered too much by all that emotional crap. Did I mention I hate emotional crap? Well, if I didn't, there you go. Fang was practically piercing daggers through my heart—he has that tendency when he looks at me like I've betrayed him. I mouth an apology to him, and he waves his hand in the air, and smiles a little, as if to say, "Nah, it's fine." He even smirks a bit, which makes me want to punch him. But at least no hard feelings there.

"Fang and Nudge," I continue, "with Peeta." From what I hear, Peeta's deeply in love with Katniss, and he can't stay away from nods and bounces up and down, and Fang smirks even more. I guess that's because he knows I can't be _that_ far from him. I realize how much I really _hate_ that, but it just feels so good to be so close.

Man, what am I _thinking_?! I mentally slapped myself.

Moving on from the failures of Maximum Ride. "Gaz and Ig, you stay with each other," I said, "simply because there's _no way_ I can separate you two…" The two pumped their fists in the air and gave high fives. Nudge, however, had a different thing on her mind…

"Wait, so that means…"

"Angel," I said, turning to her. She was a devious little girl, but she'll always be my Angel. I know she can do this. "You're working alone." I stared into her eyes. "Do you think you can handle this?"

She looked taken aback a little—I had never given her such a big responsibility before. She was always my baby. Well, too bad. She wanted to become a leader, more than once. A leader should know how to lead… his/her own person. This is her chance to prove herself. This is my challenge to her.

Her eyes burned in determination, and she grinned, half-evil-looking, half determined. It was then that I knew what her answer was going to be.

"Yes," she said.

"I believe I can handle this."

**Okay, don't kill me yet. They haven't met Katniss. **_**OR**_** Peeta. So if you kill me now, you're never going to hear the end of this fic.**

**Promise they will… Next chapter!**

**Hey, this one was pretty long… _ R&R, please! And read my other stories. (:**

**Oh, belated Merry Christmas, everyone! ^^**


	4. Tribute

**A/N: HELLO THERE. Hi. I'd just like to clarify… I do realize that Jeb was pretty OOC last time…**

**BUT I COULDN'T RESIST. ): But, think of it this way: the books don't really concentrate on Jeb's character, it's more of how Max views Jeb… So, it's pretty much biased and therefore I can't really 'get into his head/shoes/character' as easily as… Max. So yeah. Sorry!**

**aliexia—the Maximum Ride series is pretty much set into the future—it's just that Panem has further advances than the rest of the world… and they don't like sharing.**

**Silver Tongued Wonder—Yes, the almighty power of being a fanfic writer is epic. 8D**

**I would like to thank you guys for the reviews. Thanks so much! And here goes CHAPTER 4!**

Turns out, Haymitch's house was big enough for us bird-kids. Heck, it was probably larger than Anne's house… Not that I'd like to recall.

Anyway, so the flock had a pretty tiring afternoon, discussing strategies and all that. It's amazing how they actually _listened_. I know I mentioned it last time, but hey, it's like a freaking _miracle_. The flock doesn't listen to me at all, even if I tell them to fix their beds in the morning. Maybe this time around, we'll be working more like this… And then again, something's telling me that maybe not.

"Okay, bedtime everyone," I said, stretching my arms and yawning. I looked to my left and saw Nudge fast asleep in her chair, the pen still in her hand. I smiled as I stood up, and plucked it from her.

The flock was in the living room. I kept them up for last-minute reminders. We wouldn't have any time to discuss in the train, or in the Games, or even in the reapings. If we were bugged with microphones and cameras before, what reason is there to not add any this time around?

Angel and Gazzy were falling asleep—and fast. At least they were awake enough to stumble into their beds. Well, Angel was. Iggy had to carry Gazzy halfway up the stairs before he could manage to stay awake for several minutes. Fang carried Nudge upstairs, and I took her into the bedroom she, Angel and I shared. This time around, I didn't want to tread too much on Haymitch's hospitality, so I forced the flock to share rooms—not that they didn't want to, either. Gaz, Ig and Fang stayed in the room right across from us. After laying Nudge in her bed, I went in to check on the boys.

I stuck my head in the door, and I smiled. Fang was the only one who was used to staying up—what for, only God knows what. Ig and Gaz, on the other hand, were fast asleep.

" 'Yo Max," he said, walking towards me. He stopped right as he reached the door, smirked suddenly, and I had this feeling I had to _get out of there._

"Uh, yeah… 'Night Fang."

And that's when he disappeared.

And that's when I nearly screamed _bloody murder_ if he hadn't covered my mouth. He was behind me now. Which, I couldn't freaking figure out _how._

"Chill, Max," he said.

"_Chill?_" I whispered, wheeling around to face him. "You just _disappeared_. And this time, you could, while moving."

He blinked twice before he could register what I just said. Then he smiled and the whole world stopped.

He whispered, " 'Night, Max."

I stared at him, as he went into his bed.

I left their room slightly dazed. Okay, heart beating wildly and a little flushed… kind of.

_You guys, _said the Voice, _are __**so**__crazy for each other._

_Shut up, Voice, _I said in reply. Come to think of it, I hadn't really heard it in a while. But hey, a Voice in your head is by no means comfortable.

_I am you, Max,_ said the Voice,_ indefinitely and inevitably a part of you. You can't make me go away. Besides, you __**know**__ it's the truth… I told you before you probably had feelings for him._

See what I mean?

***

I woke up to the smell of eggs. And toast.

I smiled, because I knew Iggy was up and breakfast was taken care of. Iggy's cooking was the best, and the smell was faintly recognizable, since Iggy does something to his cooking that makes it special. Well, to us, that is.

I looked around, and I realized that Nudge was still asleep, while Angel was nowhere in sight, maybe downstairs. I went over to Nudge and shook her awake.

"Mmmm… No, the skittles go down the slide and the rabbits chase after them," said Nudge, mumbling in her sleep.

If I were you, I wouldn't want to know what _that_ was about. "Wake up, Nudge," I said, practically dragging her out of the bed. It was when we reached the stairs that she finally woke up. I told her to go downstairs while I checked on the others.

I poked my head in the boys' room, and saw only Gaz, fast asleep. I picked him up, light as a feather, and carried him downstairs. It was no use to wake him up, anyway, because he'd only wake up to Ig, or Fang, who were probably downstairs anyway.

I went into the kitchen, and found not only the flock, but Haymitch too. He was reading the newspaper, and smelled slightly of wine, but he wasn't drunk… Or at least, I hope he wasn't.

"Morning," I said, setting Gaz on a chair. "Fang, wake up Gaz, will you?"

Haymitch eyed me, as I went around the kitchen, checking on the flock and keeping things in order. When I finally sat down for breakfast, the flock was nearly halfway through eating, and Iggy, me and Haymitch were soon left at the table.

"Where's Jeb?" I asked, after gulping down some orange juice.

"Matters to attend to," Haymitch said, hiccupping a little—maybe he had a drink or two. "You know, you take care of these kids so much."

"Well, yeah, they're my family now," I said. "The only family I've ever had."

Haymitch paused for a while.

"Well, I gotta hand it to ya, kid. You take care of 'em well." He looked at me, and said, "That assures me all the more that you'll be able to protect her, and save him, and all of Panem because of that."

***

Later on, we were told that we couldn't witness the reapings ourselves, but rather, take a car and then go onto the train that will take us to the Capitol, and onward to the Games.

Frankly, I didn't like it, since the car included escorts and guards, and being bugged _and_ watched. So I couldn't say anything that might give away our real purpose for coming here. Although with Angel's uncanny skill and Iggy's somewhat helpful handicap, we'll be able to talk in the train.

We didn't pack anything that morning—of course, everything would be in the Games. No weapons, or anything else to be brought to the arena.

I gathered the flock and Haymitch for one last conference before the reapings, since Haymitch had to go.

"Okay, so remember… We're here to protect our tributes. However, our main objective is to get Katniss, and Peeta _if possible,_ out of the arena." The flock nodded, prompting me to go on. "I'll be sent in after the first hour of the Games. Nudge, Fang, you'll be sent in on the second day. Immediately look for resources, especially you, Fang. Look for water, that's important. Nudge, maybe you can make metals go to you from under the ground, and perhaps form them into a weapon, so that you, Fang and Peeta can be armed." They both nodded in unison.

"Gaz, Ig," I said, turning to the two. "You'll be sent an hour after Fang and Nudge. Ig, hold on to Gazzy, but do try to memorize certain paths so that nothing happens to you. Gaz, help him." The two nodded, pretty serious about this whole thing. "Same as Fang and Nudge, you two look for resources. And," I said, pausing for a while, "look for things that can help you make your _bombs_." At that, the two lost all seriousness and cried for joy, pumping their fists in the air. I shake my head at them—they'll never change. I almost instantly regretted saying that, but pushed the feeling away. I know they'll be able to utilize those brains of theirs. "Gaz, Ig, Nudge and Fang, guard your tributes, front and back."

"Angel," I said, turning to her. "Immediately scan for thoughts, especially those of the other tributes. Tell us if something seems wrong, but if it'll help that you keep what you learn to yourself until it's time, then do so. Look for resources too, but keep a guard on your surroundings. You're going in the hour after me." She nodded, and gave me a smile that somehow didn't make me feel reassured.

"Okay. Remember that I told you what times you are going to be sent in, but that's Plan A. If you're needed, and bad, you're going in." I said. "So let's review. So what do we do if our tributes meet up and become allies?"

"We immediately look for resources," Ig said.

"And look for things to make bombs!" Gaz cried.

"Guard," Fang said, barely audible.

"Make sure to have weapons!" Nudge said.

"Clear the perimeter," Angel said, "and spy on other tributes."

I smiled. I was proud of them, my flock. "Right. Resources, weapons, guarding, other tributes. Remember that," I said, and the flock nodded vigorously.

It's funny how excited they all act, when they know they're facing death—and this time, there'll be no more surprises. It's almost certain death will be there at every corner. No big deal if you've been chased by Erasers, Flyboys, been almost assassinated by snipers, bombs and facing baddies like Marian Janssen, the Director, Omega, and yourself (remember Max II?).

_Max, stop underestimating,_ said the Voice. _Respect the abilities of your opponents. _I pondered on that a little bit, and the Voice was right. We had no idea—well, maybe an inkling—of what the Games were like. There was very little room for errors here, I realized.

"Guys," I said, "and girls… We may be prepared with strategies, protocol and teamwork, but remember that _nothing_ goes as planned." I put on my most serious face. The flock fell silent, intently listening. "We probably feel like we can take this on, but remember that the odds can and _will_ be against us. We shouldn't overestimate the Games, nor underestimate our opponents."

"Max," Haymitch said, cutting through my speech. "Jeb told me to tell you that like the tributes, you have to present yourselves to the Gamemakers, and be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. You'll have to train with the other tributes when they do." He eyed me a bit. "You're going to be treated almost like you lot are tributes. Only, Jeb has requested that you cannot be separated without your discretion, and you should be glad that it was granted."

I raised my eyebrow at that. Interesting. "So, do you think we'll be first, or last? For the interview, I mean. I know that it runs from District 1 through 12."

Haymitch looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. What're you going to show the Gamemakers?"

It was then that I realized that Haymitch knew about Angel's mind-reading and shape-shifting powers, Fang's invisibility, Nudge's magnetism, and Ig and Gaz's skill at bombs, but he doesn't know about our wings.

I looked at the flock. We've been folding our wings up against our backs for quite some time now, to be inconspicuous, and we've done a pretty good job. I caught Fang's eye, and he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, because he nodded once.

"Close all windows and doors," I said. "You might not believe what you see."

***

After the windows and doors had been closed, and Angel made her usual checking for possible minds lurking near the house, the flock stood before a seemingly bored-looking Haymitch.

"What is this thing you say I might not believe?" He asked, while I ignored him.

"Ready?" I checked the flock. They nodded back. I raised my hand, and slowly counted down to one.

We all unfolded our wings, one by one. I _swear_ Haymitch's eyes fell off of their sockets. "What the…" He said, murmuring to himself. He circled the flock. "How did this happen?" He demanded.

"We don't have parents, you see. When we were babies, or maybe even when we weren't even _born_, whitecoats grafted avian DNA on us, as an experiment." I stood a little stiffly, remembering the School. "We're 98% human, 2% bird."

He looked at me in the eye. "It must've been hard on you, huh? To be experimented on and all…" I blinked. Only a handful of people actually cared about what we felt about being part-avian—and I'm actually glad Haymitch is one of them. At least he's our ally. I nodded once, in reply to his question.

"So, do you think the Gamemakers should see this?" I asked. Hey, what if it wasn't even _**legal**_?

He nodded. "Show the Gamemakers all you've got, including your individual skills. _Don't,_ however, show that to the other tributes. Not even Katniss or Peeta," he said. "Not until it's needed in the arena. Don't even show that in the chariot. Not even to Caesar Flickerman."

I nodded.

"By the way, Max," he said. "Try to learn something else when you're training with other tributes—something you need reinforcing with, or something you've never tried before. Throw a spear, tie a knot. And also, make friends with Katniss and Peeta, and other tributes too—but don't trust until you've learned who your friends are in the arena. Only trust Katniss and Peeta."

I questioned this with the look on my face. It was like my rule to myself: Aside from the flock—trust no one, and suspect everyone. "I assure you, Katniss and Peeta are trustworthy people," he said, upon seeing the look on my face. Although quite unsure, I nodded.

I turned to the flock. "Ready, team?"

I put out a fist, and they immediately stacked theirs on top of it. I grinned.

***

The car ride didn't take very long, and we were soon at the station. Haymitch and a woman with metallic gold hair (obviously a wig, and ridiculously shiny) were waiting there. I couldn't find anyone else except guards, so Katniss and Peeta were probably on the train already.

Guards were everywhere—and it made me jumpy. There's just something about burly, straight-faced men in uniforms that makes the electricity run down my spine.

"Max," Haymitch said, gesturing to the woman, "This is Effie Trinket. Effie, this is Max, and the flock—Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy and Angel."

I gave a curt nod to her. She seemed harmless, but you can _never_ really tell by looks.

"Move it, move it, we don't have all day!" The guards hurry us on the train, and there's barely any time to say goodbye.

"Haymitch," I said, suddenly, "where's Jeb?" He turned to look at me, utterly confused.

"I thought he was—"

"I don't think Mr. Batchelder will be accompanying you any further," said the Head guy—or whatever his name was.

I narrowed my eyes at that. It's not that I'd rather have Jeb with us—we were probably better off without him—but if he wasn't here, then where was he? He possibly couldn't be conferencing with the _other_ spawn of Satan—could he?

***

The train was the exact same one we used when we came here, I realized. The same lady greeted us, showing no emotion at all—although I'm sure she knew who we were—I saw a flicker of recognition flash through her face.

She showed us the way to the exact same room we used last time—and boy, was that a relief. At least Iggy would be able to navigate around faster.

When we got in, I immediately went looking for cameras and microphones—or even anything that could be used to spy against us. The flock quickly followed my lead—and guess what? We busted all of them.

As soon as it was clear that none were left, I locked up the room—windows and doors. It's better that no one goes in than out—they might realize this time around that we've busted their equipment again and replace it. Later on, Effie came and brought us to dinner with Haymitch and the two tributes.

It's about time we met Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

***

We got there before they did—and boy did they serve a lot of food. Haymitch just sat there, staring at Gaz and Ig—who were on their fourth helping. I mean, he's seen them eat like that before, but I guess it's still pretty much a shock to him. I ate at a slower pace than usual—I'd rather enjoy than inhale, unlike Gaz and Ig. I looked around—Angel, Fang and Nudge were taking on my cue, being polite.

The door slides open ten minutes later—and Effie enters with a girl and boy, who were probably none other than Katniss and Peeta. I eyed them, as they sat together.

"Well, since we're all here," said Haymitch, breaking the silence. "Katniss, Peeta, I want you to meet Maximum Ride," he said, gesturing to me. "Max, this is Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

"Hey there," I said. "I'm Max, this is Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel," I said, gesturing to each flock member.

"Hello," she said, and he echoed her reply. She looked pretty depressed. She shot Haymitch an inquiring look, probably wondering what the heck we were doing in here.

"President Snow included the flock in the Games as 'Assistant Tributes.' They're going to be sent in by your sponsors, in case you need them," he said. "Their father, Jeb--"

I held up a hand. "Angel?"

She looked at me wide-eyed, and nodded. "Someone's outside the corridor, but they're not listening in," she whispered. "Don't say anything until they're gone."

The whole table fell silent, as we heard voices and footsteps that were moving farther from us. When we couldn't hear anything anymore, I nodded to Haymitch.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "So, their father, Jeb Batchelder, is a sponsor. He can choose up to two members of the flock to send in per tribute, and he can sponsor two or more tributes at the same time," Haymitch said. Katniss looked a little taken aback (perhaps it was Angel's fault?), but nodded.

Gaz and Ig finished early, so I had them scan the room for cameras.

"Max, dear, how old are you?" Effie asked. "Seventeen?"

I nearly choked on the water I had been drinking, and Fang patted my back.

"No," I said, coughing a little. "We just appear older, taller, I guess, than the usual."

"Oh," she said. "So how old _are_ you?"

"I'm fourteen, and so are Fang and Iggy. Nudge is eleven, Gaz is eight, and Angel's six. Or seven," I said, shrugging a bit.

"Oh, Katniss and Peeta are older than you then," Effie says with a wave of her hand. She offers me a smile that I hesitantly return.

"So, how come your siblings don't look like Mr. Batchelder?" she asked.

I glanced at Fang. _Crap,_ I thought.

"I—uh, Jeb isn't our biological father. We're adopted, and we don't know who our real parents are," I mumbled. Hey, I know what you're going to say—Jeb _is_ my dad, and I _do_ know who my mom is, but that is something I'd like to keep to myself for the time being.

She stared at me, wide-eyed, as if it was the worst thing she's ever heard of. "Oh, you poor thing! Jeb must love you all so much to take you under his wing," she said.

Man, I've only met her, but I'm already disliking her. Or hating. Close to it, at least. It's her hair that annoys me to heck, though. It was quite an eyesore, really.

I eyed them—Haymitch, Peeta, Katniss, and Effie. I knew for one that I liked Haymitch—it was proven more than once that his intention stays true. Peeta seemed closed off, making small conversation here and there. I don't know why, but I have a feeling he and Fang will get along. Katniss, on the other hand, seems so _depressed,_ by what, I don't know. But she stares at me, with eyes full of—hope, I think, and curiosity. I _do_ hope we get along—otherwise, we won't make a good team. Effie was really nice, although she has a tendency of being tactless, and her fashion sense kills my eyeballs. But other than that, she's harmless. Or, I'd like to think that she is.

***

After the whole of the flock had finished their fill, we started to head for our room.

"Haymitch, we'll go on ahead," I said, nodding to him, Katniss, Peeta and Effie.

Haymitch nodded. "That's fine—we were just leaving too," he said. So we all stood up, and filed out the door. They went on ahead—Fang, Katniss, Peeta and I lagged behind. Perhaps we were too humble for our own good… not.

After everyone else had gone out, Katniss pulled me back from the group. "Max, I need to talk to you," she said.

I glanced at Fang, who raised his eyebrow at me. He noticed Katniss, and he gave a curt nod, then turned and walked away, quickly. Peeta looked at Katniss questioningly, and her face hardened. Peeta look taken aback, but went away.

Katniss pulled me into the room again, and closed the door. Immediately, I went on guard mode. Hey, how do _I_ know if she's really to be trusted? I've only met her for a few minutes. No matter what Haymitch said.

I folded my arms, and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, Katniss. What do you want?"

She lowered her eyes. "I know you're the only one who can help me…"

"With what, exactly?"

She looked at me straight it the eye. "Keep Peeta alive. I owe it to him."

"Why? Shouldn't you save yourself?" I frowned. Usually, people would save themselves first. But if Katniss really _is_ in love with Peeta, then I guess it's none too different with me and Fang. Except that if I _did_ beg Fang to let me die, he probably will.

"No, I can't," she said. "The way things are going, I'm better off dead. Peeta should have a life ahead of him."

Her eyes burned into mine. "Promise me," she whispered.

I stared at her, unsure what to do. Our mission was to protect _her._

The mockingjay that could save Panem.

**A/N: WHOOPS, CLIFFIE.**

**I know you guys have been waiting, so I had to cut it here… But srsly, I've been writing too much. Since Chapter 2, every chapter's been LOOONG. **

**SO, sorry I wasn't able to update… in like, a week. That's 'cause school's back, and not only school, buuuut extra-curricular activities that take up the time I can use to write. So, please be patient…**

**Although I DO want to thank you for the reviews… 21 in 3 chapters?! That's more than my other fanfic—21 reviews in 12 freaking chapters. I luff you guys. 8D**

**WHERE ARE THOSE R&Rs?! Keep 'em coming, people! ^^**


	5. Good As Dead

**A/N: AH. SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING..! I'll update now, so that you guys can be.. amused while I take some time.. Next week's going to be pretty hectic. ): Sorry again..**

**But please keep those R&R's coming! They bother me and remind me that I've gotta update for you guysss. 3**

She fell apart.

One word, and her world crashes. I walked away, knowing it was my fault.

But I couldn't do anything. We needed to save _her._ No one else…

There was no room for the boy with the bread.

***

Haymitch dragged me, Fang, Katniss, and Peeta to watch the recap of the reapings. I didn't really care—but Haymitch told me that those we were competing against would be shown, and it'd be best to start analyzing them already. Fang wasn't all too happy with being dragged into it, but since he's my right-wing man, he's _got to go_. I can't stress that well enough.

Katniss was depressed—she wasn't really happy that I said no to her request. I told Fang, and he believed it was best—although we did agree earlier on that we'd try to save Peeta too. Point is, we can't promise anything, or everything. It's best to make Katniss think we're not even going to try at all.

The reapings go by quickly. I got sort of annoyed with Effie—she wouldn't stop making comments, especially with that hushed tone. It's not like she knew them personally—Haymitch probably did, a lot were his friends… or people of that sort. He watched the reapings with eyes full of agony. I gripped Fang's hand tight, just to stop myself from screaming at Effie. Katniss saw that, and probably will be eyeing me and Fang more nowadays.

I need to bash my head into a wall.

Then again, if I do that, we'll never be able to save Panem. I could save the head-bashing for later—maybe after the celebration.

I tried to familiarize myself with the faces and names of the tributes from every district. Haymitch said that some may be used as allies, so I tried to remember the ones who were most possibly the enemies.

Soon enough, Haymitch left without another word—and Effie made some senseless comments and finally gave up and left. Katniss, on the other hand, was told to go to sleep by Peeta, leaving me, Fang and Peeta to stay up all night to take notes and analyze our opponents… and possible allies.

Awkward silence hung over the room. Fang and Peeta were like stone—barely exchanging words, and sitting perfectly still. It was uncomfortable, and irritating. I mean, couldn't they just _get along_?!

Then again, I can't say that I too, didn't really say anything. Barely at all. But they're both _men._ There has to be something there, right?

"Max…" I looked up from the notes. Peeta looked at me, finally speaking up—after like, a freaking _hour_. Or two. "What did Katniss talk to you about?"

"I don't think… she wanted you to know," I said, gently, not wanting to sound sarcastic or mean.

He slumped in his chair, glaring at the screen. "She never tells me anything," he mumbled. Poor guy.

"She doesn't need to," Fang said, quietly. He eyed me. "Maybe you already know."

"She asked… to save me?" Peeta looked up at me. "Did she? Ask to save me?"

I glared at Fang, giving him a _**you-freaking-gave-it-away-you-idiot**_ look. I didn't speak, and Peeta just stared at me.

He sat up straight. "Don't. Save her."

I just looked at him. Gosh, were they _this_ crazy for each other?

_Hey, not like you wouldn't do the same for Fang,_ the Voice chided. I willed it to shut up, although I knew it wasn't going to.

An ear-splitting scream came from the hallway, to which Fang and I jumped up at, while Peeta sat on the chair, motionless. He had a guilty look on his face. I frowned at that, but jumped out the hallway, and recognizing the voice as Katniss', ran to her room, with Fang right behind me.

I banged on the door. "Katniss? Katniss! Katniss it's me, Max. Are you okay?"

She opened the door, clutching her robe about her, taking in short, shaky breaths. I didn't know what to do. "Katniss, what happened?"

She looked up at me, her breath slowing down and going back to normal. "Nightmare," she says simply. "I-I'm fine."

"I'll go get her something to drink," Fang said. I nodded, and he walked off, quickly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked Katniss, who seemed a lot calmer now, but still clutched her robes tightly. "Do you want to talk?"

"No," she said. "I'm fine. Where's Peeta?"

"Still taking notes and watching the television," I said. We walked back to the room, and Peeta jumped up when he saw us.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked. He still had this guilty look on his face, although he tried to hide it.

She nodded, but didn't say a word.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked. She shook her head no. He stretched his arms toward her, and she walked into them. Peeta hugged her tightly, burying his face in her neck. Fang and I just looked somewhere while they shared a moment of privacy… abruptly broken by a Capitol attendant coming in with two mugs of milk.

The attendant saw me and Fang, and frowned. "Should I get more?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to say no, but Fang nodded and got ahead of me. "I believe we can all use some," he said quietly.

Five minutes later, the attendant walks in with two more mugs. He looks at Peeta and Katniss sadly, murmuring about 'star-crossed lovers' and 'miserable endings'. He talks about adding a bit of honey and spice to the milk, and leaves soon. He looks at me and Fang, though, before he leaves, and he frowns, confused, and then shakes his head sadly.

Fang and I finish our milk, as Peeta and Katniss exchange a few words. I stand up, and so does Fang. We bid the two goodbye—I do think that they need their 'alone' time.

God knows how many they have left.

***

The next morning, the flock flew a bit overhead the train after breakfast with Haymitch & Co. Katniss and Angel seemed to get along (Lord knows how), while Fang and Peeta exchanged quite a few words. I had a hard time with Angel—she couldn't let Katniss know any further the extent of her mind-reading, although Katniss seemed like she figured it out. If she did, nothing else we could do about it.

"Angel, sweetie,_ please,_ for God's sake, try not to answer Katniss' or Peeta's thoughts," I said, biting down a couple of colorful words. Angel nearly got caught red-handed this morning, when she looked up at Katniss and said, "It's not like that," in response to Katniss thinking whether the situation between Fang and me is the same with Peeta and her. Frankly, I don't know what possessed Angel to say that—it was sort of the same. They were—_I'm going to choke on this_—in **love**_._ Just like—like, _nevermind,_ I can't bring myself to think it.

"It isn't the same," sighed Angel, while flying closer to me. "It never will be."

"Just like that," I said. "You're not supposed to answer my thoughts. Or anyone else's, Angel. It's messing up the whole _inconspicuous _thing."

"But," she protested, "she doesn't love Peeta. Katniss loves Gale."

_Now_ she gets me confused. "Who the whole wide world is Gale--"

"—Her best friend, so she says," Angel said.

"She told you _this_ much about her life?" I said incredulously. Wait, that's not Angel's _tactic_…

"Not really," Angel said, smiling her _angelic _smile.

Get it? _Angelic_? Nevermind, lame pun.

"He somehow slipped into her thoughts, although she's thinking about him much less than before." She added, still smiling, and making me less comfortable.

"And…? How about Peeta?"

"She only thinks that Peeta deserves to live a life after the Games. That's why she's so intent on keeping him alive," she said, sadly.

I _still_ think Katniss loves Peeta. Even just a teeny bit. Because deserving a life after the Games wasn't just enough of an excuse… Or was it?

"Peeta loves her a lot, though," Angel suddenly said. "He'd do anything to keep her alive. But because of the Capitol…"

I glanced at Fang, who had been listening in the whole time and I didn't notice. I looked back at Angel, looking at me, her face set in stone.

"Katniss… Katniss thinks that she's good as dead."

**A/N: OKAY, SO IT'S REALLY SHORT. Not really, but shorter than Ch2 or Ch3 or Ch4. BUT bear with meee, I've got a HUGE writer's block… And I realize that you've all been waiting, so I decided to cut it here.**

**Anyway, huge thing I've gots to mention here right now. During the whole time I've been having writer's block, I've been imagining and having concrete ideas for other MR crossovers, to the point that it's like a series already—a series that continues on and on, beginning with this one.**

**That is, that after the Hunger Games, the Flock will continue on to another crossover, and anything that happens here they shall carry on. Then another crossover after that, and another, and another. How's about that, huh?**

**You're probably wondering—Wait, what if I don't know anything about those other stories you're crossover-ing MR with? Well, not to worry… It's all written in Max's point of view, and she's knows nothing at all, because it will be completely alien to both you and her.**

**I'd like your opinions, please. I'm so excited with it that my brain's numb. But I don't want to finish this quickly and have a crappy crossover. I want to take my time, and if I'll need three years to finish these series, I'll take three years... Given that you'll also stick with me. Opinions? (:**

**Love you alll~**

**Valkyrie. (: Jus' Valkyrie. 8D**


	6. Saving this World and the Universe

**A/N: Sorry to crush a lot of your expectations, you guys. D: But never fear, I am here! To, er, update.**

**Sorry to not have updated for a while, been caught up with another fic I've co-written with someone. **

**Just in case you're interested, it's a Harry Potter [Marauder's Era] fic. To you HP fans, you might want to check it out since it's on my list of what-to-crossover-MR-with. Just go to /~hanisenpai and read the one entitled, "A Trio Of Disturbed Humor." Sorry for the shameless plugging, but eh. We need more readers. D: Take some time to read Hani-senpai's stuff too, since she is my epic friend IRL and deserves a lot more than just a cuppa reviews. c:**

**Without futher ado, chapter 6; Saving this World—and the Universe. Spiffy.**

"Max, look!" Angel pointed.

I followed the direction her finger pointed in, and sure enough, there was Katniss. All glowy and fiery and… _dangerous_ looking. Whaddya know, the girl's got some spunk after all.

"Wow, she looks so amazing!" Nudge exclaimed. "I want to dress up like that someday!"

"Oh, you'll get your chance… if they accept mutant freaks as America's Next Top Model," I muttered.

Just so you know, we're here stuck in a huge crowd out in _freaking_ nowhere. Well, not really _nowhere,_ but at least on land. And you know, the flock _loves_ to be in a crowd. With many people we don't trust. Not to mention some could be Erasers. Or Flyboys. Or… some new megalomaniac hybrid of bird, human, machine, and wolf.

Anyway, we were watching the opening ceremony. You know, Districts 1 through 12, tributes on chariot, extravagant clothing representing their district, yada yada yada. District 12 was coal-mining, and they say that they chose fire for the theme last year—and apparently, this year too. Both Katniss and Peeta looked scary. Fierce. Deadly. Like fire itself.

Too bad we couldn't do the same. Haymitch got a letter saying that neither design team nor chariot had been prepared for us, since we came in last minute, so the president will just announce the bit where we come in, and flash pictures. The only time the audience actually gets to see us is the interview.

"Hey," Fang said. I nearly jumped right out of my skin (you _do_ realize this is Mr. Rock, right? Usually, he keeps his mouth _shut_), but held on. Just barely.

"Hey," I said. "What do you think?"

"I think that I shouldn't trust Odair."

I burst out laughing. "What, that gay blonde with a net for his… _undergarments_? Is he even possibly dangerous?"

"He won at the age of fourteen," he reminded me, his dark hair falling into his eyes. I took in a sharp breath. _Dang it, _he was just so—so mind-blowing. "And even then, his district provided him with quite a lot," he finished, raising his eyebrow at me. "You okay, Max?"

"Uh—yeah. Of course. Don't trust Odair. I get it."

His lips twitched into a smile, and slipped his hand in mine, giving it a little squeeze. I swear I turned beet red. If not, my palms got really sweaty. "It's going to be okay, Max. You'll save Panem… And you'll still save the world."

Gosh darn it, Fang; I don't need _you_ telling me to. I keep forgetting because _you're_ so dang beautiful.

'_Max, I don't think I need to hear your cheesy thoughts,'_ said Angel, mentally.

"And still I keep forgetting that I'm inches away from a freaking _mind-reader._" I grumble to myself.

'_I'm only joking, Max… Fang loves you best. And you both are meant for each other. But don't be too distracted.'_

_He's your soulmate. I told you._

Lo and behold, comes in the Voice.

I die a little inside. Here we go again with the Hallmark moments… wait, what?!

Fang's my _soulmate_?!

"And for this year's Quarter Quell, we have some _guests_." President Snow's face was projected over the heads of the crowd—how, I'll never know. This weird country really just had advanced technology like that. He grinned toothily; in an eerie sort of way which immediately told me that there was _no_ way this guy couldn't be evil. He looked it.

"We have chosen six members, ranging in age, from another country to partake in our Games this year." He smiled evilly again, and I felt Angel shudder a bit, so I let go of Fang's hand and picked her up, hugging her tightly. "It's going to be okay, sweetie," I soothed.

Angel put her thumb to her mouth. "I don't trust him, Max." She looked up to me. "I can't read his mind."

I blinked a few times, taking some time to register what she said.

'_What?_' I thought, panicking a little. Only very little. Since you know, Angel not being able to read minds isn't much of a shock. And it isn't at all _handy._ Yeah.

Okay, a lot. I panicked a lot. Fang glanced at me, and frowned. I looked over at Iggy, Gaz and Nudge. Only Iggy seemed to hear, since his eyebrows were scrunched up in confusion.

'_Max, I'm scared,_' Angel whimpered. '_I can't read his thoughts, but I feel something evil clouding him. Max, he's dangerous._'

I grimaced, and kissed her forehead. "Shh, Angel." Our pictures flashed, one by one, in the sky. Me. Fang. Iggy. Nudge. Gaz. Angel. Several people gasped, others murmured angry whispers, the kind that goes 'they're-bringing-other-kids-into-the-Games?!' I only hoped the Capitol guards hadn't heard anything, or more than half of the population would get thrown into jail. President Snow's eyes turned cold, as if he heard the crowd's murmur. The crowd fell silent.

"As I was saying, these children are to partake in the Games. They are to be assessed by the Gamemakers, and interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. They are not, however, tributes. They are to ally themselves with a tribute, to assist the tribute in any way they can, and help them succeed in the Games. It is wholly their choice which tribute to delegate themselves to," he said, which led the crowd into more murmurs. If anything, his voice grew louder, as if to overpower the crowd. "The rules for these Assistant Tributes, or _Assists_ are as follows." President Snow's face shrunk to a small square, and now another woman's face filled the projected screen. She cleared her throat.

"I am Melinda Goldfyre, proud to announce the rules for the Assists." She pushed up her silver glasses on her nose, and began reading the paper she held. "Rule number one, An Assist is not allowed to attack another Assist."

#2; An Assist is allowed to attack another tribute, whether by his or her tributes' or own will.

#3; An Assist is allowed to ally himself or herself with another Assist, granted that both tributes of the Assists will consent.

#4; Two Assists are allowed to one tribute.

#5; Assists may not switch tributes.

#6; Assists are not allowed idle talk, even between allies. They may only speak of strategies and none more.

#7; Assists are to abandon their tributes, if said tribute is dying. Upon the death of a tribute, Assists must delegate themselves to another tribute, or risk being eliminated in the Games.

The list just kept on going on and on and on, so I didn't quite bother with the first few rules. I shrugged it off, knowing that not a single rule would hold down the Flock, as it always has been. But one thing's for sure—until we get Katniss out, we need to play a little bit within the rules. Of course, not entirely. It's just not something the Flock abided by. Not until Anne, I thought to myself, biting back the snide comments I could make after that one.

No, the Flock would never be bound. Not by law, not by force, nor cages or dog crates, or adults.

Never.

I would make sure of it.

I lay in bed that night, thinking quietly—and also keeping guard. Fang and I decided to, but didn't tell the others and waited until they fell asleep. Angel found out, though, and after some much-needed argument, finally went to sleep.

Those Capitol people haven't figured out why we were suddenly raining on their parade—Er, Games. That was good. For the meantime.

But the spawn of Satan—Jeb—wasn't around, and I can't help but feel that he just dragged us into something we'll regret and he left to save his own hide.

_You don't understand, Max… this is only the beginning._

Oh, wonderful, a visitor! Voice. '_What do you mean, beginning?'_ I thought, adding a bit of a snarl slash growl to it, but I wonder if it ever quite mattered to the Voice… if it ever detected sarcasm in my head.

_Max, do you remember your mission?_

'_You mean all that save-the-world carp you put me through? Yeah,'_ I thought, being nice for once. Me! Max! Being nice. I'd been hostile more than half the time to the Voice and maybe even Katniss and Peeta.

_Well, of course. You're supposed to save the world, Max…_

Oh, if I could get a penny every time I heard that..

… _the thing is, not __**just**__ one world, Max._

I bolted upright in my bed. What?! Not just one world? You mean, after I save the world, I don't get a lifetime vacation spree in Hawaii? Overreacting. Somehow, I knew that we'd never really rest, me and the flock.

The Voice ignored me.

_This world… is only one of many. This universe… is made of countless worlds._

My head was spinning. I didn't need the Voice to go all wacko on me, I didn't even understand half the things the darn thing was saying!

_Listen to me, Max. When I meant that you were to save world…I didn't mean only one…_

What?! Are you mental? I began to cough wildly. Not just one world?

…_You __**are**__ going to save the world, Max,_ it said, sounding a little like it was trying to reassure me. Well, not helping, y'know!

_You are saving this world. But after this…_

_You are to save the universe._

**A/N; So it's short. Come on. I'm trying my best to fight the writer's block here. Where are those R&R's? Sorry to keep y'all waiting, life's getting a whole lot harder nowadays.. Wish me luck and I might get the next chapter up soon. D:**


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